


Perdu, introuvable

by UltimaSomnia (InsomniaNoir)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, I don't know, Tagging for this site is a headache
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 05:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsomniaNoir/pseuds/UltimaSomnia
Summary: “Answer mine, do you miss your husband?”A pause, then footsteps coming from behind her.“I do not know.” A confession.





	Perdu, introuvable

**Author's Note:**

> This is a product of me loving both characters, platonically, as coworkers and romantically. You’re welcome or not. That’s up to you.
> 
> I wrote this entirely disregarding the prompts and commissions I have to work on. Thanks Blizzard for the new skins, the new map, and the new feels.
> 
> Title translates from French to "Lost, Not Found"  
> Which seems redundant, but given the nature of this fic . . . it makes sense.

Chateau Guillard – Widowmaker’s Mansion, headquarters. 

“Sombra.” The French accent lightly, yet unintentionally rolling the ‘r’ in her name.

“What’s shakin’  _amiga_?” The woman in question fresh out of the shower from the grandioso master en suite in Chateau Guillard. Widowmaker took care to show the Latina woman her guest room, but she prefers the luxury of being in the French woman’s quarters. There was no way in hell Sombra was going to allow Widow to enjoy her own master bedroom on her own.

Realizing the unnatural stretch in silence, the renowned hacker turns to the sniper, noticing that her gaze is elsewhere. The shorter woman took the time to towel herself off before carelessly dropping the damp towel over the armrest of the chair at the older woman’s vanity.

“Do you remember,” The sniper began, carefully and slowly, unaware to herself she was initiating this conversation. “What your life was like before Talon? Before Los Muertos?”

Sombra halts clasping her bra as her posture goes rigid. Is this another game that Amélie chose to play with her? At least, that’s what she thought until she recognizes the forlorn tone. Resuming to clasp her bra in place, she regards Widow in her usual banter, “It was a life. Clearly one I’m not missing if I moved on to bigger and better things.” For someone that enjoys busting her teammates balls, figuratively and metaphorically, she opts to be frank for a moment.

Before she could stop herself, she continues to share more of her erased past, “I was  _una huérfana_ , sure I had a home before the Omnic Crisis, but who didn’t?” A noncommittal shrug, “Not like I remember them anyway,” Taking the towel off her head, she proceeds to carefully detangle her vibrant purple ombre hair. “I may not have had my own  _familia_  but,  _Los Muertos_  felt like the closest thing I had.”

Despite not facing Sombra, the sniper heeds the woman’s words. The two women came from entirely two backgrounds, if Talon was not the force it was today, they probably would have never met prior to their recruitment. Or in the sharpshooter’s case, abduction. Within the recent year, Amélie slowly has become aware of herself and the deterioration of her reconditioning. Seeing fragments of memories in her typically dreamless dreams, recollections she long forgotten (or rather, they were suppressed from her) before the scientific experiments to build the perfect sniper. The cold-hearted murderer, known as Widowmaker.

“ _Cherie_ , if you were given the opportunity to live a life, a  _normal_ life with your parents, would you?”

Well this was quickly making Sombra uncomfortable as she was now in mid-braid of her hair. What was this woman getting at?  _Why_  was she getting at this?

“Your reconditioning is wearing off.” It wasn’t a question.

There was a pause. A sigh escaping past the lips of the woman that chose to straighten her elegant posture since leaning against the doorway proves uncomfortable for long periods of time. Sombra lands her enhanced blue eyes on Widowmaker since this intimate conversation commenced, to regard her. The immaculate woman was dressed in a silk royal purple bathrobe, her hair in a top bun and her eyes focused on something in the doorway. Crossing the room while putting on her panties, she stood next to the woman to observe what she was staring at with such a faraway look. A portrait was in the grand foyer, hanging to display a younger Amélie, newly married to her then husband, Gerard Lacroix. The shorter woman looks up at the Frenchwoman next to her to discover any signs of remorse or yearning in those sharp bright amber eyes. To her surprise she discovers neither, instead she finds a look she knows all too well from her own personal experience: apathy.

“Do you miss your husband?” Sombra’s voice sounded antagonizing, which was not her intent, it’s in her nature to be a little shit. Allowing for emotions such as sympathy and understanding doesn’t work well, especially with her being a walking supercomputer. As her own artificial intelligence, emotions such as that simply won’t do. The hacker didn’t properly think about it, but she finds herself lucky to having consent to her own body modifications. She read Amélie’s file, a few too many times, and she couldn’t mentally process being taken unknowingly from her once loving home and being turned into a detached killer. Everything the hacker did in her life was a  _choice_ , Amélie’s wasn’t for the last decade of her life.

“ _Ma chérie_ , it is in bad manners to answer a question with a question.” Those eyes, lacking interest, gravitate their attention to the woman standing next to her.

An unsuspecting shiver coursed through her as those eyes gaze into her own. Swallowing her pride, she elects to share her true answer, rather what she deems as true, “I stopped living in the realm of  _what ifs_  the second I realized I wasn’t getting adopted out. That included me placing fragmented memories of my  _madre biológica_  into the farthest recesses of my mind. We live in the reality that family does not live forever, they will be stripped from you, used against you or worse, betray you,”

Sombra wasn’t gullible to fall for the poster image of a  _perfect_  family, as far as she was concerned, they were fictitious depictions in her mind. Her culture revolves heavily on the basis that family was everything, but how could she have experience that as an orphan? Other children in the orphanage shared stories about their parents, not all of them were loving or ideal to have. Granted, the Los Muertos gang was the closest thing she had to an actual family, but she had already desensitized herself emotionally. Refusing to be too attached to those that could hinder her success. After hacking the contents of Commander Rivera’s computer, she knew it was for the best.

“Knowledge  _querida_ , is everything, second only to power.” She answers, the look in Widow’s eyes remain the same.

“You answer this way because you never had the opportunity to have a family, Sombra,” The amber eyes, hauntingly predatory. “You also,  _cherie,_ did not answer my question.  _S'il vous plait_ , humor me.” Widowmaker was not ignorant to the fact that Sombra was uneasy with this conversation, let alone trying to fish for ways to get out of answering her question. A woman that willingly chose to emotionally compromise herself remains an enigma to the other, that once knew how to feel her emotions feverishly.

The pause and the gazes were proving unbearable to Sombra, who removes herself from Widow’s side and strides herself across the room towards the King-size bed. Pulling the blankets back, before climbing in, she chose then to answer.

_Sometimes._

“No.” She held her secrets close, but potential manipulators closer. Regardless of the nature of this  _relationship_  she was forming with the woman, the concept of sharing that bothers her. Yet, she didn’t mind sharing the earlier information. What was this French woman doing to her?

“Answer mine, do you miss your husband?”

A pause, then footsteps coming from behind her.

“I do not know.” A confession.

Creasing her brows, Sombra pivots her position in the plush bed and notes the closeness of the taller woman. Without realizing it, Widow’s freshly manicured hand reaches to hold the Latin woman’s cheek. Her thumb brushing the upper cheek as she continues her intimidating gaze into the woman’s cerulean blue eyes.

“I try not to think about a past I no longer feel a connection with, but returning here and claiming this as our  _Basé des operations_  has sparked an unsettling presence.” She doesn’t know how to phrase such an emotion to the hacker, grasping in uncertainty for the right words. Noticing how the French woman’s eyes glaze over and were not even registering Sombra’s presence, she laughs and moves out of Widow’s inviting hand.

“Eh, don’t think so hard on it. Let’s get to bed  _querida_.” Crawling towards her spot on the bed, she pulls the blanket over her body, curling on her side. The former ballet dancer turns the light off by the nightstand and settles into the inviting softness of the bed.

Silent moments pass before Sombra felt the lithe coolness of the woman behind her. Against her better judgement, she turns her head and notices Widow’s tender touch reach out to her again. These uncharacteristically gentle touches have become more frequent in the passing months, Sombra is unsure of what to make of them. When they had agreed to this  _arrangement_ , it did not involve affectionate gestures like these.

“Amélie?” A question, belonging to a name that sounds so foreign to the woman on top.

A finger presses against Sombra’s plush full lips, unsure if it regards in speaking her real name or if she didn’t want words. She removes the appendage, simply to lean down and press her own lips on the other woman’s. With the weight of the earlier conversation looming over them, the hacker is unsure if she should push Widow away or be greedy and lavish in the attention. Since the start of this, they had only kissed twice, this now counting towards a third. However, this was turning into uncharted territory. This excites and mortifies Sombra.

Already impartial to kissing, simply for the fact that the notion is intimate and exposes feelings that were unspoken. Given her secretive nature, she did not want to share her motives with the spider. Yet, this sense of vulnerability that both women unintentionally exhibit tonight made the action more fragile than before. As she was about to explore further these peculiar feelings, Widow removes her lips, licking them slowly.

“Amélie,” She tries again. “What—“

“ _Non. Dormez, chérie._ ” With that, she resumes spooning Sombra’s smaller form and holds her, as the smaller woman usually requests when they share a bed.

Before she falls asleep, Sombra wonders if she should prepare herself for these foreign emotions.

Before she falls asleep, Widowmaker wonders if returning here will uncover a past she may (not) be ready to confront.

Before she falls asleep, Amélie wonders while in the void, if she’ll find herself again. Was she truly always lost or is that what her psyche has made her to believe?

**Author's Note:**

> Translations  
> Spanish  
> una huérfana - a orphan (feminine usage)  
> familia - family (feminine usage)  
> madre biológica - biological mother 
> 
> French  
> ma chérie - my darling / dear (feminine usage)  
> la Basé des operations - Base of Operations  
> “Non. Dormez, chérie.” - “No. Sleep, darling.”


End file.
